


I would give the rest of my life away to spend another moment with you

by renegadeartist



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Death Sentence, Fake AH Crew AU, GTA V AU, M/M, Thoughts of Suicide, ryan centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/pseuds/renegadeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: GTAV AU story for Ryan set to Just One Yesterday</p><p>Ryan's time in the Fake AH Crew is brought to an abrupt end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I would give the rest of my life away to spend another moment with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shinju_Tori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinju_Tori/gifts).



His calloused thumb ran over the shiny metal surface of the knife. In doing so he felt the sharp edges bite into the pad of his finger and rip the skin. It wasn't sharp enough to draw blood, to be a weapon. They wouldn't dare give him anything that could resemble one at this point. Even though he couldn't see the prison guards he knew they were there, eying him nervously. Even without the face paint and mask he was still intimidating. The cameras mounted on the wall monitored his every move. Only the best for a criminal on death row.

His eyes passed over the meal in front of him. He really didn't care at this point what happened. He didn't care if he dies, miraculously escapes, or just stops existing. He didn't care anymore, not after everything that happened. It seemed like years had passed since the incident, when really it had only been a few months at most. He didn't know, though. It had been a while since he looked at a calendar. Again, the apathy reared its head. What did it matter what day it was if he was just going to see how close his death was? It was too late now, anyways.

The only thing he could find in himself to care about is his crew. He rubbed the scarred tattoo on his knuckles. He would see them soon, no matter what happened. If there was any God or deity in the universe they owed him that. After all of the terrible shit he had done and the unforgivable crimes he committed he still deserved to see his friends again, at least he liked to think so. He closed his eyes, bringing the memories back again.

He dropped the gun, the sound of clattering metal and plastic bouncing off of the tall glass buildings. The bloody bodies and charred cars littered the ground, the asphalt cracked and scorched where Ray's grenade had gone off. Beside him was a bloody mess that was once his best friend. His radio had gone silent long ago, cutting off the frantic sounds of yelling and gunfire. He had never heard anyone that panicked, that terrified. Not even Gavin's constant screaming prepared him for the last time he would hear his friends. He lifted his hands above his head as hundreds of black clothed men with all sorts of guns pointed at him slowly walked forwards. They probably thought he had something up his sleeve, some escape plan. He _had_ one, one called Michael and Jack. But he had no idea where they were, he had no idea if they were even alive. He would only get an answer in the form of a newspaper's obituary thrown at him unceremoniously by some prison guard. That had been a hard night alone. That had been the night he just stopped caring.

His hands had been wrenched down and cuffed. They ran their hands across his pockets and jacket, looking for some kind of concealed weapon. They found the grenade just in time to throw it away, but not in time for them to escape the blast radius. As the shrapnel and heat tore across his body he hoped that it would be the end of him, that he could be the master of his own demise, that he could see his friends again. When he woke up later in a hospital he knew that his plan had failed, that he was the last of the Fake AH Crew, the crew that was responsible for Los Santos's terror and panic. He wondered if another crew would take their place, if Starbomb would finally decide to step up their game or SMG would become the poster children of the underground crime network that riddled the entire city. He doubted it. If the Fake AH Crew could be curbed and killed who else could reach that level of notoriety, of superiority?

There was a trial. It was more of a formality then anything. Everyone knew he was getting the death sentence, even his lawyer. He hadn't said anything, just stared at him. He had stared back. There was nothing to say, they both knew he was guilty beyond redemption. They read out his charges to a court empty but for the jury and judge. It was not a public trial. "Multiple counts of arson, manslaughter, grand theft auto..." the list went on and on. The list lasted longer than the actual trail. When they read his sentence he shouldn't have been surprised. He knew there was no way they would just keep him in jail, he knew there was no way they would let him live for his crimes. He was to be killed by lethal injection a month from that day.

He spent the month alone in solitary confinement. They didn't trust him enough to let him around the other prisoners. He didn't care. It wasn't like he would have tried anything anyway. Even if he escaped where would he go? He didn't have a crew anymore, all of his friends were dead, there was no point. If he got out then what? He'd just end up killing himself. The life he had spent years building had crumbled in seconds on the night of one failed heist.

He would have given the whole month away just to spend a day with his friends again.

There were times when he would sit and stare at a wall and hear people pass by his cell. He would hear people talking and shouting and running, but he was spending time in a memory that wasn't quite right. The lights would be too bright or Geoff's mustache would be too crooked or Jack’s beard would be a bit too long. The room wouldn’t shake from the force of Michael and Gavin’s fights. His tattoos would be gone and he would be alone, talking into a phone to someone far away that he had long forgotten, his long hair spilling over his eyes and a half written paper due tomorrow sitting on the desk. Ray's laugh was always right, though, and that was one comfort. Unfortunately so was the last moments they had spent together. The yelling, the laughing that quickly turned into screaming and crying, the gun shots and explosions. They were carved into his mind for as long as he would live, which was growing shorter by the second.

Eventually he stopped staring at the wall. Eventually he stopped thinking about his crew, about their deaths, about all the shit that he had been through. He settled instead of talking to the guards that he knew were just outside his door. It felt like forever since he had talked to someone living. The ghosts that seemed to haunt him didn't count. He talked and talked for hours, and he had no doubt that every word was recorded. He didn't even stop when his throat started to burn and ache. "I've never heard you talk that much, like, ever," he could hear Ray say. He would shake his head and stop talking, though, because Ray was _dead_ and he couldn't let himself forget that. If they had somehow survived then he was leaving them without even putting up a fight. But it was too late, he had already stopped caring.

He put the knife down, an empty plate sitting in front of him. He stood up, the cold metal chair screeching against the cold metal ground.

His last thoughts were of his friends. Of his _family_.


End file.
